The "Honest" Beta Deceived Day and Night by a Twisted Obsessive - Chapter 37

“I see you.”

Duan Huaijing dreamed of the day the villa burned down again.

Only this time, he watched from a God’s-eye view. He saw “The Eye” scouring the spot where he had fallen, day and night, even using tools to overturn every inch of the villa. The man had lost the elegant composure he once maintained; he had become a volatile madman with nerves as taut as a single strand of hair.

This madman didn’t know how to express his grief, so his thoughts manifested in actions. He would cook meals for two at every sitting, waiting for a ghost to finish eating so he could wash the dishes. He would sit alone, talking to the empty air for hours.

Duan Huaijing even saw a hidden room in the villa, its layout identical to the bedroom he had lived in. When the door opened, there was a lump under the duvet, arranged to look exactly like a person lying there at first glance.

The Eye stood at the door, talking to the thing on the bed. A doll would respond in Huaijing’s own voice, giving replies that perfectly matched his personality. As Duan Huaijing listened, a chill ran down his spine. At first, he thought the voice was AI-generated, but it was too familiar. He eventually realised these were recordings of things he had actually said.

The Eye, that voyeur, had collected every word he’d ever spoken and put them into a life-sized doll so he could receive a response. It was a pathetic, terrifying attempt to maintain the illusion that Huaijing was still there.

Some people keep mementos to remember a loved one; what was The Eye’s motive?

Watching these scenes, Duan Huaijing felt the dream was absurd, yet he couldn’t help thinking that if The Eye maintained this mental state into old age, he’d be the prime target for scammers selling fake health supplements. He sighed inwardly, wondering when the dream would end.

He remained stuck by The Eye’s side, watching the man pull the curtains tight during the day, plunging the villa into pitch blackness. The man would sit on the sofa, dining alone and talking to himself, occasionally holding up a fork to feed the void.

It was eerie. Eerie to the point of being demonic.

But if those actions suggested a love pushed to the brink of hallucination, other things made Huaijing wonder if the man actually hated him to his very marrow. The Eye never observed the traditional mourning rites for the seventh day after death. On that day, Huaijing’s friends would be somber, dressing in plain clothes and speaking in hushed tones. Only The Eye would excitedly bring out all of Huaijing’s clothes, organise them, and hold them up to himself in the mirror before putting them on.

The clothes were a size too small for The Eye, making him look grotesque and out of place. Yet the man delighted in it. He would bury his face in the fabric, inhaling the scent with a frantic, rhythmic trembling, his face a mask of morbid, feverish obsession.

Duan Huaijing was terrified by the display and instinctively took a step back. The man seemed to sense something; he snapped his head around, staring directly in Huaijing’s direction.

In that moment of eye contact, Huaijing saw the web of burst capillaries in the man’s eyes, the result of severe sleep deprivation. Combined with his horrific expression, he looked like a vengeful ghost crawled up from hell.

Huaijing’s breathing quickened, and he was jolted awake by the sheer terror.

He sat bolt upright on his narrow sofa, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. The final scene of the dream echoed in his ears. The Eye, looking straight at him, had whispered in a low, chillingly dangerous voice: “You’d best not let me find you too quickly.”

****

Duan Huaijing sat in his cramped living space, dazed. A year had passed since his escape from the villa, he could finally refer to it as “that year.”

Under Fang Qing’s cover, he had successfully disappeared, eventually drifting to City D after a long, arduous journey. He lived under an assumed name, taking several temporary jobs to support himself. While his grandmother’s illness had been cured, she still required a regimen of expensive medication. Between rent, utilities, and basic living costs, he could barely save a penny no matter how frugal he was.

Every morning he woke up to work; his schedule was tighter than a head of state’s. However, his finances had improved slightly thanks to a new “gig.”

The job was simple: he acted as a stand-in. Much like a student paying someone to attend a lecture for them, he just had to stand there and play a role. His employer was a shiftless second-generation rich kid who only “worked” to experience life. Whenever there was a party or an event the employer didn’t want to attend, he’d have Duan Huaijing dress up, put on a mask, and pretend to be him. The pay was excellent, and Huaijing was more than happy to do it.

Just as he was thinking about it, his employer called.

“Are you free tomorrow afternoon? Same as usual. I’ll send you the location.”

“Yes, I’m free.” Huaijing pulled out his notebook, which was crammed with “itineraries,” and squeezed the appointment into a small gap.

Before hanging up, the employer added a warning: “The person coming tomorrow is difficult to deal with. I’ve heard he’s quite heartless. Just stand to the side and wait for them to finish dinner. Whatever you do, don’t let the mask slip.”

“Understood,” Huaijing promised.

The next day.

Having done this many times, Huaijing was an expert. After entering the banquet, he sat in a corner, fiddling with his phone and acting as a mere placeholder. The employees of his employer’s company already knew him; even though they knew he was a fake, no one reported him. A few people even gathered near him to gossip.

“Did you hear what I just heard?” one person asked.

“What?” another asked curiously.

The first person glanced around and leaned in, whispering mysteriously, “The one from the Xie family. Didn’t you know? I heard they’re the ones hosting this.”

Being so close, Huaijing couldn’t help but overhear. As he scrolled through his phone, a face instinctively surfaced in his mind. He shook his head to clear the thought. The Xie family was vast; even a distant relative might claim the name to save face. It couldn’t possibly be Xie Yun. They were hundreds of miles away from the capital.

Another person, less informed, asked, “Xie Ming?”

The first person curled their lip. “No. Isn’t he crippled? I heard he took a huge psychological hit. He hasn’t attended a single Xie family event since.”

“The version I heard,” a third person chimed in, “is that his fiancé died and he was so heartbroken he couldn’t bear to stay in that city.”

These people knew nothing of the inner workings of the Xie family; they were simply repeating internet rumours. After gossiping for a while, they turned to him. “Do you know the Xies?”

Duan Huaijing shook his head. “No.” He went back to his phone.

They weren’t surprised. People like the Xies were meant to be seen on screens, not met in reality.

“Don’t know what?”

A gentle voice came from behind him. Huaijing jumped, instinctively locking his phone and turning around. It was a colleague of his employer.

“Brother Zhao,” Huaijing said with a polite nod.

Brother Zhao pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, smiling at him. The people nearby began to hoot and tease.

“Can’t even be apart for a few days without huddling together the moment you meet.”

“Don’t forget to give us some wedding sweets when you two make it official!”

Brother Zhao scratched his head bashfully, stealing a glance at Huaijing’s expression. Huaijing frowned and shifted slightly away, his patience wearing thin. He and “Brother Zhao” were not in that kind of relationship, but whenever he tried to explain, people would just give him a “we understand” look, assuming they were simply keeping it private.

Having failed to convince them several times, Huaijing had stopped trying, opting instead to stay away in the hope that Zhao would stop doing things that fueled the rumours. He knew the situation had spiralled because Zhao never corrected them in fact, he added fuel to the fire. Whether Zhao truly liked him or was just playing around, Huaijing found the pressure of the unrequited attention felt like moral kidnapping.

It was annoying, but he couldn’t make a scene; he needed to keep this job.

“Want a drink?” Zhao asked, holding a bottle of wine.

Huaijing glanced at it and shook his head. Zhao wasn’t deterred; he poured himself a glass, leaned back, and began blatantly peering at Huaijing’s phone screen.

Huaijing froze, his annoyance peaking. He loathed people snooping at his phone; it felt like a violation of his privacy. Just as he was about to speak, a commotion erupted in the distance.

“He’s here! He’s here!”

“Is it Xie Yun? I knew it would be him. Only he has this kind of presence.”

The words died in Huaijing’s throat. He turned his head stiffly, wanting to see the newcomer. It must be a different person with the same name.

But the moment he saw the man, he turned to stone.

Xie Yun walked out of the light. The overhead lamps caught his features, making his sharp profile stand out. The eyes and brows were the same, but deeper, more intense than they had been a year ago. As he nodded to greet people, every movement exuded a cold, noble elegance.

A year apart had only intensified the man’s aura of command. His polished black shoes made a faint, rhythmic sound against the floor a sound that seemed to tread directly on Huaijing’s heart.

Seconds later, Huaijing snapped out of it. He instinctively grabbed a nearby display stand and pulled it in front of himself to hide.

What is Xie Yun doing here?

Before he could process the “why,” the next thought hit him: I have to leave before he sees me.

He was a “dead man” now. He couldn’t afford to be seen by anyone from his past. He had fought too hard to leave that hell; he couldn’t let it all be for nothing.

Thinking fast, Huaijing decided to leave early, even if it meant risking his pay. While everyone’s attention was fixed on the man under the spotlight, he moved against the crowd, crouching low and heading for the shadows.

“President Xie?” a business partner asked, following Xie Yun’s gaze. The spot was empty.

It took several calls before Xie Yun withdrew his gaze, distractedly taking a sip of his wine. The partner, a middle-aged man with a beer belly, chuckled. “You’ve come a long way, President Xie. Are you planning to stay for a few days?”

Xie Yun lowered his gaze, his cold mask returning. Only his white-knuckled grip on his glass betrayed his inner turmoil. “No. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

The partner sighed with regret. “That’s a pity. I was hoping to introduce someone to you. He’s young, but his skill and professional ability are second to none.”

Thinking of the young man’s shimmering eyes, which always reminded him of a lost deer in the forest, the partner noted that while his looks were deceptive, his inner resilience was remarkable.

Xie Yun stopped listening. When it came to skill, there was only one person in the world who occupied the top spot in his mind.

Besides.  he felt as though he had just felt that person’s gaze.

Just like many times before, it felt as though someone was hiding in the shadows, watching him carefully, too afraid to come forward. But when he looked at that spot again, all he saw was a cold, empty wall.

Support